Amber Woods
by Spoilerwolf
Summary: Preseries: Sam 17 Dean 22. The Winchester family enters a quiet little town when they get wind of teenage deaths. When his family neglects what Sam brings to the hunt, his family learns that Sam could be the next victim if they don't find him in time.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Part of the Summer of Sam Love Fic Exchange. This story is written for _RedLotusOasis._ I had a lot of fun taking part in this exchange. The prompt was fun and I couldn't have done this story without the help from my betas, AnickaMarie & Geminigrl11. To them I humbly thank over and over again for their wonderful and speedy work. And another big thanks to Tanpopo for her fantastic artwork for this story of which you can view by going to LJ and going onto the community _Summer of Sam Love _and looking for the first chapter of this story _Amber Woods._ Enjoy guys!

A/N #2: Preseries: There is some swearing, but nothing that hasn't been seen or heard from on the show.

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* * *

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_He was going to die._

Even with this creature pinning him to the floor - his own blood pooling on the floor beside him, with calloused hands wrapped tightly around his neck, air suddenly impossible to breathe in - Sam felt oddly detached. Like a balloon that had all the air let out of it. He was existing – just. And as the edges of black in his vision began to spread, he knew that his father and brother would find his body when they eventually broke through the mortar that separated them.

He pawed uselessly at the hands that gripped him tightly, body bucking against the weight that settled against his chest, all the while staring into murderous dark eyes that bore into him like liquid steel.

A grating wheeze accompanied the last attempt to remove the iron hands around his throat, but the effort was minuscule to what was needed and Sam felt the weight in his arms and hands prove too much to bear and they fell silently by his sides.

_So this is what it's like to die. _Sam wondered as the black enveloped him and he had one last humble thought.

_How did it come to this?_

* * *

_Four days previously. _

Sam was brooding again.

But that wasn't a big surprise to Dean. They were moving on to another town where kids had been disappearing at a local teenage hangout. They had only been in this city three and a half weeks, but already Sam had made a few friends. Friends he didn't want to have to leave behind this time.

Dean sighed, arms crossed and side resting against the door jamb, watched Sam angrily fling a t-shirt and a balled up pair of socks into his duffel bag. He wished the kid wouldn't try so hard with the school thing. It just wasn't worth the effort to be disappointed each time Dad told them to pack their crap for the next hell hole they would be moving to.

"What?!" Sam hissed at him, eyes blazing over his shoulder as he yanked harshly on one drawer, almost causing it to dislodge from the dresser completely.

Dean ignored the tantrum. "Dad said to be finished and ready to go in fifteen."

Sam narrowed his eyes, his face pinched with rebellion. "Whatever."

Dean rolled his eyes when Sam's back was to him. This new teenage angst Sam had developed over the last two years and being obsessed with all things 'normal' was grating on their father, just as it was Dean.

Not that Dean didn't get it, he did. Sam wanted what every other kid had, but something was never obtainable. Not with their present lifestyle. Safe was a fallacy, but one he didn't want to enlighten Sam about.

Not the kind of safe Sam wanted.

The kid had grown immensely in the last two years, both to Sam's surprise and Dean's chagrin. Sam lost what baby fat he'd had, face lean and angular, arms and legs gangly when they had been short and a little stocky just two years ago. He had finally put on a bit of muscle, but was just on the side of slim to almost skinny. He wasn't as bulky as either Dean or their father, which made sparring still a game to Dean with Sam's awkwardness with his new height. He was just an inch shorter than Dean at present, which the elder brother frowned at. The kid had seemingly sprouted overnight, and by the looks of things wasn't done growing, and that would leave Dean the shortest Winchester in the family.

"Are _you _ready?" Sam asked, voice dripping with sass.

"I'm always ready Sammy." Dean delivered it with a shit-eating grin, ignoring the pissy attitude, moving out of the way as the storming Winchester slipped past him without a backwards glance.

Dean hung his head, letting out a breathless sigh, knuckles rapping against the door jam before he moved to follow his brother to the car.

It was going to be a _long_ drive.

* * *

Sam tugged his jacket up higher to tickle just beneath his chin, his head resting against the back passenger window. His father and brother were sitting in the front seat, talking quietly to one another while ignoring him. He kept his eyes on the blurring dark background, the lamplights casting long shadows in the car as the Impala sped past them, the taillights disappearing into the darkness as they passed through another nameless town.

They had been driving since eight o'clock that morning, and it was just after ten at night now. Sam fought to stifle a yawn into the sleeve of his jacket, slumping a bit more against the door, knees cracking as he shifted them to get into a comfortable position. The extra inches he'd put on in the last seven months had never been so glaringly obvious as when he tried to sit in the back seat of the car – his knees hit the back of the front bench seat, and he would shove his feet under the seat in front of him, trying to stretch out as best he could. Every time he shifted, he jammed a foot or knee into the back of his brother's seat, getting a set of narrowed eyes in his direction.

He didn't mean to be angry with Dean earlier that morning, but being told that they were moving – _again_ – just invoked another burst of rebellion and anger towards their father for uprooting them once again.

And Sam was angry with himself for expecting his father to do anything different. Their transient lifestyle had been that way since he could remember, but that didn't mean he enjoyed coasting along, being nothing but a ghost and a faded memory to everyone else they came across. Sam wanted more for himself and for his family, but his wants were in stark contrast with what his father and brother thought was best for him.

Covering his mouth with his hand, Sam had finally shoved the hurt feelings aside and decided he would make it up to Dean the next chance he could – it wasn't fair to Dean – it wasn't his fault. Sometimes Sam didn't know why he got so angry and belligerent with his family. He hated the distance and the arguments, even when he himself started enough of them with his father, his poor brother was stuck in the middle of two hotheads needing a way to vent their frustrations.

_Tomorrow,_ he thought sleepily, _tomorrow I'll try and make it up to Dean._

Finally as comfortable as he could get, Sam yawned, shutting his eyes and relaxing into the worn leather seats, burrowing into his jacket as deep as he could get as he felt himself drift from the gentle rocking of the Impala. The purr of the engine and the murmured voices of his family soothed Sam into a gentle slumber.

* * *

A sudden bump that the car drove over woke the youngest Winchester from a fitful sleep, eyes blinking in rapid succession to clear the sleep from his eyes.

The tired family pulled into a rundown motel, the neon sign showcasing the name 'Sunwave Motel'. The sign was missing the 'u' and 'v' in the first word, the buzzing blue lights attracting mosquitoes in the dozens.

It was still quite warm for the beginning of April, an unprecedented heat wave in the Minnesota area surprised everyone, including the Winchesters. The sickly heat clung to their shirts, their backs damp with sweat, the humid air hot and hard to breathe in as they tumbled out of the car, the two boys pulling their bags out of the trunk while John went to book them a room for two weeks.

Sam slung his bag over one shoulder, rubbing his eyes with long fingers to wipe the sleep from them. Their dad had pulled him out of school just days before spring break would have started. He figured they would have this case solved before the break would finish, the family moved on and Sam settled in a new school before the end of next week.

That still meant leaving behind the few friends he'd managed to make in a month's time, a huge thorn of contention between him and his father.

Footsteps and an overhead bell from the office made both boys turned their heads at their father's approach. "Room ten." Their father answered at the unasked question.

He watched them trudge to the door as he grabbed his own duffel plus the weapons bag and slammed the trunk lid closed.

He watched Dean, sure and proud, as his eldest son nudged his brother in the shoulder, earning him a swat in return. Dean walked with a lethal grace, one he had perfected since their hunting lifestyle had begun. His son had working steadily in the hunting business since he'd graduated two years previous.

Glancing at Sam, John suppressed a sigh. He loved both his sons more than they could possibly fathom from their strict and to-the-point father, but with Sam, communication seemed to have cut itself off at the knees. He'd never had these issues with Dean – Dean he could count on to understand the situation and do as was told without asking questions.

Sam on the other hand, did the exact opposite.

The questioning of their lifestyle had started when he was fourteen, an out of the blue comment about wanting more for the family, and "why can't we settle down someplace and be normal?"

That first question was the standard one that had led to the ethical and moral decisions of their transient lifestyle – the one of which his youngest began to resent him for.

Sam was still doing his training – John didn't give two craps what Sam thought about that – he wanted his sons prepared. But their arguments and fights had escalated in the last two years and John couldn't understand Sam's wants and daydreams. He was doing this to keep his boys safe – to make sure they kept _themselves_ safe - and Sam just pushed back as hard as John fought him against it.

"Dad?" Dean was looking at him strangely, as if knowing John's thoughts were elsewhere. Sam was looking at him too, hazel eyes wary and concerned at the same time.

John shook his head, bemused. "Nothing. Let's get inside."

* * *

Sam blinked sleepy eyes open, a quiet yawn escaping past parted lips as he rubbed his brow, sitting up in bed and hearing his father's quiet swears as he typed on the computer tucked in the corner of the room. "What are you doing, Dad?" Sam asked, placing a hand over his mouth and covering another yawn.

His father glanced at him over the top of the computer screen and then back to the screen in front of him. "Nothing. Go back to sleep Sam."

Contrary by birth, Sam pulled the blankets off his bed, letting his feet touch the course carpet and pushing himself off the bed as his eyes drifted to the window, noticing that morning hadn't yet come. Looking at the other bed, his brother was lying face down, arms wrapped around the pillow like it was a giant stuffed animal a child would clutch in sleep. Sam spared a fond smile. "What time is it?"

He father didn't look at him, fingers still smashing against the keyboard, his frustration mounting. "Just after five in the morning," he answered tiredly.

Sam pulled at his sleep pants, feeling them slipping past his hip bones. They had just bought them, but they were still a bit loose at times, even when Sam pulled the strings as hard as he could and tied them.

He peered over his Dad's shoulder, absently scratching an itch through the sleeve of his shirt. "Are you trying to get into the police database?" Sam recognized the webpage – it looked pretty much the same as every other one across the country.

His father grunted an affirmative.

"Here Dad," Sam motioned towards the computer, "I can help you."

His father studied his face a moment, then relented, moving his hands from the computer.

Sam grabbed the computer and moved it in front of him, feeling his father's eyes on him as he moved swift fingers over the keyboard, hacking his way into the database with practiced ease. Sam didn't really know how he'd learned to do what he could on a computer, but he'd had a few friends who had shown him a bit about computers, and how to get rid of viruses and do basic computer reprogramming and such.

Sam fought a smile. That, and Caleb had shown him a thing or two about hacking into other people's computers. A skill that regretfully hadn't had much use in their hunting life until the last year or two. His father had only gotten the laptop a few months ago, after much bitching about the price of the damn thing, so Sam hadn't been able to put to use his technology skills until then.

Just a minute or two and few clicks later, Sam grinned. "There. You're in."

His father glanced at the screen, seeing that indeed, he was in. "Thank you Sam." He replied honestly, pulling the computer back towards him, fingers poised on the keys and began typing again.

Sam peeled himself away after a minute of silence, heading into the bathroom and closing the door. A few minutes later he came out, still a bit bleary eyed from too little sleep, but knew he was awake now and wouldn't be going back to sleep for a while.

His father ignored him while he opened the fridge and pulled out a jug of milk, searched around for a glass in one of the kitchen cupboards until he found one, poured a liberal amount into the glass, and leaned against the counter and swallowed the cold beverage. Sam then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, placed the cup in the sink and put the milk back into the fridge then moved to sit heavily on his bed, which squeaked when he sat down.

"Sam," His father spoke a few minutes later with strained silence, "why don't you go for a run? I'll have Dean doing his run when you get back."

A run. _Great_. Just what Sam wanted to do at five-thirty in the morning. But watching his father run agitated fingers through continuously greying hair, Sam didn't have the wit or energy to fight his father on it. He shrugged into a sweatshirt and slipped on his shoes, wiggling his toes and feeling the dirt and grime that covered the top of his sneakers flake off with the movement.

"Don't forget to take a weapon with you. And your cell phone." His father murmured over the tapping of keys as he flipped through pages of information, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

Sam quietly dug into the weapons bag and pulled out one of his favourite guns – his own Taurus Magnum – and slipped it into the back of his jeans and headed out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

It was still fairly dark outside, the sky ever so slightly pink in the distance, so Sam took to staying near the street lights, giving him the best light in order to see. Compared to his father's other training exercises, Sam didn't mind the three to four mile run in the mornings. He enjoyed cool air before the rising sun made it too hot – the feel of wind on his face, the burn in his calves and the puff of air as it whistled in and out of his lungs. Running, at least, didn't make him kiss the floor with his face – not like when he sparred with his brother.

Sam stepped up the pace, muscles burning as he made the corner and headed back for home.

* * *

By the time Sam was out of the shower Dean was nowhere to be found – presumably on his own run per their Dad's orders. John had taken off to find someplace open for breakfast and had asked Sam to tidy up the room before they got back.

Towelling his wet hair and then hanging the towel up to dry, Sam scooped up his dirty clothes and tossed them in the laundry bag, making a mental note to find a laundromat later that day as the clothes bag was getting full. He made his own bed and stood up, then rolled his eyes and fixed up his brother's bed too.

He moved to tidy up the kitchen table, shuffling papers and re-arranging them into a neat pile. One paper fell off the table and Sam picked it up and looked at it. It was a missing person flyer; and as Sam studied the picture, he memorized the long dark hair that curled outwards at the ends, a round face that supported the dark brown eyes that stared right back at him. This girl and four other kids around her age were what brought the Winchester family here in the first place.

All of the kids disappeared in the last month, four of the kids turning up dead and mutilated as if by an animal. The lunar cycle didn't fit, so their father had eliminated it being a werewolf. All of the victims were Sam's age or younger, and this one had been more personal than many of the other cases had been.

The front door suddenly opened. "I hope Dad's bringing back food." Dean exhaled between panted breaths, face a deep red, his freckles more pronounced from his three mile trek out in the early morning. He closed the door behind him, kicked his shoes off and made a beeline for the shower.

"He said he wouldn't be long." Sam called over his shoulder, hearing the answering "_yeah yeah" _in return, the shower running a minute later.

Sam glanced once more at the paper he held in his right hand, taking in the planes and features of another victim – another _job _that they were forced to do, before leaving it on the table and turning the tap on to wash his glass from earlier, eyes distant as he wondered what would become of today.

* * *

Apparently it was Sam's turn to pick up the groceries while his father and brother went off to talk to the victims' families. Sam was still too young to do the investigating – in his brother's words he was still too 'baby-face like' in order to pull it off. The only time they would allow him to do any interviewing would be if there were kids involved. And at this time of the day, said kids would be in school, like Sam sometimes wished he was too.

Walking down the isles of the small town grocery store, Sam plucked a few necessary items and tossed them into the basket – loaf of bread, some bologna and miracle whip for sandwiches, two tins of spaghetti sauce and a bag of penne noodles, along with a box of spaghetti noodles and a tin of coffee cream. He then went down another isle and found some cheese and milk, another row and found crackers, and a few assortments of junk food and a case of pop that he tucked underneath his arm as he stood in line at the only lane open with a working till.

Sam busied himself looking at the local newspaper while waiting and mentally reviewing the amount of money in his wallet. He tossed the paper into the basket as well.

When it was his turn, Sam heaved the basket on the till and began unloading his finds, hearing the beep of each item scanned and his purchases plopped into a bag and put off to the side.

"So, you off for spring break then?" Her meek voice asked, and Sam looked up from his basket into blue green eyes. A pretty girl, no more than seventeen, with soft makeup that highlighted her olive brown skin and made her vibrant without making her appear like some exotic animal.

"Yeah, you could say that." He quirked his lips at that. "My family, we're just staying here for a few weeks for vacation."

The girl smiled in kind back at him, and it made Sam feel heat touch the corners of his cheeks. "Don't know why you'd want to stay here – not much to do besides camping." She glanced at the newspaper as she scanned it, her smile slipping into a frown. "Been kind of dangerous the last month or so around here. Too many animal attacks."

That peaked Sam's interest. "Yeah?" He inquired, hoping his voice sounded both contrite and of course, interested. His father always told him when trying not to look overly eager, play the oblivious tourist.

She smiled tightly at him. "Yeah. A few kids my age got killed in the last few weeks. Police suspect an animal attack – probably a bear by the sounds of it."

"I'm sorry." Sam murmured while he handed over the cash, truly feeling bad for her. It was never easy losing someone, even if it was a friend in passing. "Were you close with them?"

She glanced up at him at that. "Only Maria. Friend of a friend, you know? She died two weeks ago up on Ridge Avenue." She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, her earrings sparkling. "Anyways, here's your things." She placed the last bag on the counter, smiling at him shyly.

"Thanks, uh…" he stumbled, never having caught her name.

She laughed then. "Alice. And yours?"

He snorted humourlessly. "Sam."

"Sam." She repeated, nodding her goodbye as another customer appeared behind him.

Just as he was reaching the door to exit, Alice called out for him. "Hey Sam?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Why don't you come by _The Den_ tonight? A local place for all the high school kids to hang out. Has to be better than camping any day, right?" She asked, amid scanning food items and placing them in bags.

He already liked Alice. And this would be a way to get some information on the victims – something his dad and brother couldn't do. "Sure. Where's it at?"

* * *

"You're going _where?_" His father demanded, eyes hard and teeth grinding.

Sam really hadn't expected such animosity at the idea. But as soon as he had reached the motel and put the groceries away, his father had walked in the door, pulling off his tie and tossing it onto the kitchen table with a frustrated flick of the wrist.

That should have been his first clue to wait until later. "_The Den._ It's about a twenty minute walk down from here on the other side of the street." At his father's raised eyebrow, Sam ploughed on. "Looks like a modernized warehouse that sits across from the barber shop. A lot of the high school kids go there in the evenings to study and just hang out."

His father studied him a moment, loosening the shirt collar around his neck. "And you thought this would be useful, how? They're _kids_, Sam. There were no witnesses to any of the attacks. What could they possibly tell you that the parents wouldn't?"

Sam gritted his teeth and swallowed a retort. His father sometimes forgot that _kids _weren't always as useless as he thought. "Well it couldn't hurt to check out." He added tirelessly, rinsing out the last dirty bowel and setting it on the dish rack to dry.

His father sighed, moving away from him and sitting heavily onto one of the beds, rubbing calloused fingers into his brow as if fighting a headache. "Fine." The simple answer sounded like it came from a gravel pit, hard and grating on the ears.

"Fine." He answered tonelessly. Sometimes Sam did envy his brother's apparent partnership quality in his relationship with their dad. In the last few years, all Sam has managed to accomplish is either piss his father off, or get ignored. He couldn't recall the last time his dad had actually complimented him on anything, other than getting an off-handed thanks, and was back to being ignored for sake of argument. It frustrated him to no end.

With a sigh, Sam continued on cleaning the kitchen, biding time until his brother returned with dinner in tow.

* * *

"You're going _where?_" Dean asked him incredulously, déjà-vu to earlier that afternoon when his father had asked him the exact same thing.

"I'm going to _The Den_. It's a place for teens to relax and hang out on weekdays and weekends. Not a big deal."

Dean raised an eyebrow, his tongue rolling over pale lips. "Not a big deal, huh?" He surprised Sam when he grabbed his younger sibling in a headlock, ruffling his hair until all the ends were sticking out all over the place. "Sammy's got a _date._"

Sam finally pried himself out of Dean's grip, fitfully trying to tame his wild hair. "I do _not _have a date."

Dean laughed, eyes tight with mirth. "When a girl asks you to 'hang out' that's not really what she's asking bro." He made a swipe at his brother who quickly ducked out of the way. "Wait." He held up a finger, as if something came to him, his brother frowning at him. "She asked _you_?" His lips puckered in concentration. "Is she blind?"

"Dean!" He hissed, dodging his brother's attempts to put him in another headlock or something else ridiculous and grabbed his coat, running one hand endlessly through his tousled hair, trying desperately to get it lying flat and not sticking up like he'd just gotten out of bed.

Dean laughed behind him as he stormed out of their motel room. "Now, just remember to-"

"Shut up, Dean." He yelled over his shoulder, absently turning on his cell phone and slipping it into his jacket and zipping up the pocket.

"Don't forget to practice safe sex!" Dean yelled cheerfully at him, to Sam's immense embarrassment. A few patrons looked his way from the half filled parking lot, and Sam's cheeks burned as he swiftly traveled down the street, away from the eyes he could feel descending on the middle of his back.

"I'm _so_ going to _murder_ him when I get home," he promised, already formulating the best way possible to carry out his master fratricide plan. And he continued to think about that the whole twelve blocks down to where he would meet up with Alice, the plan getting more and more bloody and grotesque with each passing step.

* * *

After only two hours of sitting in a booth not made for someone with long legs, Sam was wondering if the merit of sticking around with the boom box blaring out techno style music right into his left ear, giving him the perception of being half deaf, was really worth it.

Alice had met him at the entrance when he'd arrived, quickly ushering him inside the rather large dance space. He'd gawked at the flickering of green, red and blue strobe lights that danced across the walls, the DJ standing off in the far corner, playing around with CD's and nodding his head in beat with the song. The walls were decorated in various band posters, the lime green wall color virtuously non-existent with the rapid color changes of light that roamed across them.

"Funky place, huh?" Alice yelled over the music, slinking a soft, delicate hand around Sam's arm and towing him towards the right, stairs leading up to where lounge chairs sat atop a patio like area that overlooked the dance floor.

The music was quieter up here and the tropical theme was in full swing – long plants that hang over the wooden balcony and fake monkeys hanging off a palm tree in the corner. The bar, or what looked like the bar, was all decked out in bamboo sticks for siding, served a variety of mocktails and cappuccinos.

They'd only sat down for five minutes before a few more of Alice's friends joined in, all greeting Sam with a shake of the hand and introducing themselves. After a half an hour, they had a group of seven, including Sam, all scrunched into one corner of the balcony, more and more noise coming from down below as a group of teens descended on the dance floor, hollering and stamping their feet in time with the music.

Sam was getting a headache from all of this.

So here he was, two hours in and he'd yet to get any information regarding the victims. He was beginning to wonder if he should call it a night when finally one of the girls spoke up. "So did you hear there was another bear sighting on the reservation?"

"What? No, I didn't hear that." Alice answered, her body leaning towards Michelle with rapt attention. In fact, all of them did, like some kind of football huddle.

"Yeah. Chris mentioned it just after school. Said he saw it lumbering by the reservation school down on Parkside," Michelle replied, flicking her long blonde curls over her shoulder before resting her hands on her black miniskirt and crossing one leg over the other.

Sam interrupted her before anyone else could jump in. "You said reservation?"

The others stared at him. "Yeah." Alice answered. "Most of the land here is reservation land. But most of the reserve kids stay on their own land. They almost never come here unless they need groceries." She paused a moment, thinking. "They all go to that one school, about five miles down the road westward from here. Big red brick building."

"Kind of a creepy looking thing if you asked me." Joshua chimed in, his voice neutral and eyes appearing bored with the conversation.

"Have there been any attacks on the reservation?" Sam inquired, searching each face and trying to appear concerned, but not overtly interested, playing the part of moronic tourist like that's what he really was.

They were all quiet a moment. "No." Joshua finally spoke up, pushing himself back to rest fully in his chair. "The attacks have been on this side of the reservation only. Kind of scattered all over the place, actually."

Michelle piped in. "That last guy, Michael, he was killed up on Summit – like, two blocks from his house."

Alice moved restlessly next to Sam. "He doesn't live in town here though – he lived on the outskirts. Like all the other attacks."

So the thing didn't like coming into town and hadn't touched the reservation. Interesting. Sam didn't know if that would be useful information or not, but it was at least something more than he had.

"….he'd fought with that native kid last week too."

"Pardon?" Sam asked, hoping to catch the last sentence he'd missed.

"Oh, Josh was just saying Mike had a fight with this native kid the other week. Kid told him to stay the hell away from his family or some crap." She frowned, remembering. "Mike never went near the kid's family. I don't think he's ever even been on the reservation before," Michelle said, leaning forward so that her voice would travel past the loud speakers.

They all sat there quiet for a minute or two, everyone else lost in their own thoughts. Sam didn't know what each of them were thinking, but he was hoping he'd be able to start finding out more on this reservation and see what he could dig up on its past. It could prove to be a promising lead.

The conversation afterward drifted into homework assignments, work commitments and so on, Sam only keeping half an ear on the conversation while his mind worked away on the information he'd found out.

He only hoped it would be enough for his family to take notice.

* * *

It was nearing eleven o'clock by the time the six of them left the building. Joshua was able to take the two girls home, and offered to drive both Sam and Alice back to their places, but Alice declined, saying that she only lived a couple of blocks away and that Sam assured them that he was heading in that direction as well. Not that he didn't try and talk her out of it, but she was adamant that she would walk home - and Sam couldn't leave her to just walk by herself.

Besides, he'd already called Dean and his brother had told him that their father was still out and with the car. Since the attacks hadn't occurred in town where they were staying Sam decided he could walk back to the motel, no need to wait for his dad to swing by whenever he got back.

They walked silently beside one another, Sam slowing his footsteps to try and match her slower pace, feeling like he was dragging three hundred pound weights behind him at the speed they were moving.

They were still in the downtown area, not much in the way of actual houses yet, when Alice had started up a conversation about what his family was like.

After bringing up half truths and more lies than he was really comfortable saying, he turned the conversation back to Alice.

"My family is really boring. My older sister is a pain in my ass!" She hissed, but Sam could detect the hint of affection in there.

"I think it's in their DNA. My brother is the same way." Sam added, feeling a tug at the corner of his lips. He still needed to find a sneaky way to kill his brother when he got home…

"Must be. And my Mom can be such a jerk! Always bossing me around, treating me like I'm a moron or that I fell out of a stupid tree or something." She muttered under her breath, smiling sardonically at Sam who just chuckled in return.

"Parents." Sam murmured, still smiling and shaking his head.

"Parents indeed," she playfully shoved at Sam, then ran ahead of him, giggling.

It had been a long time since Sam had actually…had _fun._ Maybe for once fate had smiled down on him to make him miserable.

He wanted to retract that thought a moment later when he noticed the long stretch of woods that interceded the two parts of the town on both sides, feeling a prickle of cold touch the back of his neck. He stopped walking, glancing around to both sides of the street, feeling like eyes were watching them.

Alice seemed to notice that she wasn't being followed, and walked quietly back up to him. "What is it?" She asked, concerned.

There was a loud snap of a branch about twenty feet away from them to their right, and Sam couldn't help the sudden lump that formed in his throat.

"Sam, can we please go? _Please?_" Alice trembled at his side, tugging absently on his sleeve and at a quick glance he noticed that her eyes were huge in the dark, breath ragged.

"Come on, it's probably nothing, alright? Let's keep moving." He threw an arm around her thin shoulders, moving them at a brisk walk down the middle of the road. There hadn't been any traffic in the last ten minutes, and there weren't any signs that there would be any more.

Another snap of a twig not that far from them and Sam's heart jumped into his throat, his head pounding from the increase in blood pressure. He could feel Alice fumbling with her purse and absently glanced down at her when she pulled a shaking hand out of her bag and held up a can of bear spray. "Just in case, ya know?" She added weakly.

When a snarl and hiss came out of the woods not thirty feet away to their right, Alice yelped like she'd been struck and Sam pushed her ahead of him and walked backwards slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the area. They still had a ways to go before they hit the next civilized area

When the fucking _monster _of a bear came rampaging out of the bushes running straight at them, Sam realized two things: one, he'd brought a knife to a bear fight, and two, holy _shit _that was one massive freaking grizzly bear.

"Holy shit! Run! _Run!"_ He pushed Alice ahead of him and they both flat out ran across the asphalt, hearing the lumbering paws pound against the pavement as it advanced towards them, eating up the distance with ease.

Sam's mind panicked, head swivelling back and forth, eyes seeking out some kind of help. He found it when he spotted a maintenance hut, probably to house the hydro pumps for the city and he made a break for it, grabbing Alice's wrist in his hand and towing her towards it.

The steps behind them slowed, the bear apparently realizing they weren't going to be able to get to the safety of lights and people, and Sam used that to his own advantage.

Alice was screaming long and loud in his ear and he ignored it as he desperately fumbled for his lock pick set, blessing his brother for having forgotten to grab it from him earlier in the day when he was going to hand it over to his dad when he went out later that evening. He fumbled with the lock, hearing the roar and clicking of dagger sharp nails on the cement as it lumbered nearer, Alice practically in hysterics. The door finally opened at the same time the bear charged, and Sam yanked Alice through the three inch thick metal door and slammed it shut, locking it just as the door literally rocked from the hit as the bear made impact.

Alice screamed and Sam drew her to him, wrapping his arms around her as he leaned against the door, unable to see even his own hand in front of his face. It was pitch black, even with the tiny window off to their right.

His t-shirt was getting wet from the girl's tears and Sam rubbed her back soothingly even as another shudder went through the door when the bear struck again, his angry howl reverberating through the small hut. Sam closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his own terror, swallowing convulsively as the bear struck the door again and again. Alice's sobs died in Sam's plaid shirt as they slumped down onto the dirty floor, feeling the door tremble with each hit as they tried to stay quiet, the girl trembling in Sam's arms as he attempted to comfort her, all the while trying to ignore the grinding of the bear's nails against the door, the terrifying screech as claws longer than his fingers dragged themselves across the door.

A hiccupping voice called out to him quietly as they were engulfed in a sudden quiet. "Are we going to die?"

And then the door rattled against their backs.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be up tomorrow or on Monday. Thanks guys!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Alrighty boys and girls! Next chapter is up. Cursing and swearing, as always, I've given you fair warning.

Disclaimer: Nope. I don't own the brothers Winchester or Daddy John... and the Impala.... They belong to Kripke *le sigh*

* * *

The streaks of pink and red in the sky gave new light to the small town. The sprinkler systems were running, the soft _whoosh whoosh _of water being pumped out in measured strokes, but Dean ignored all of that as he scanned the dawning sky and the road beneath it.

When Sam had not shown up by one in the morning, a full hour past his curfew, and with his father not back yet, Dean had walked a two block radius of their motel, yelling for Sam. When no one had answered, except for a crabby neighbour who hollered at him to stop yelling, Dean retreated back to the motel and tried to get a hold of both his brother and his father. Sam's phone went straight to voicemail, just like his father's did.

By the time his father did arrive at half past two in the morning, Dean was hoarse from yelling outside for Sam. When he told his father between puffs of breath, John had taken the car to the facility Sam said he was going to be at to see if something had happened.

Which, of course, Dean knew _something _had happened or they wouldn't have been having this discussion! But he kept his rage driven thoughts to himself.

It was not quite six o'clock in the morning when he finally saw a lanky figure with shaggy dark brown hair appear in the distance and Dean was already sprinting down the street to meet up with him. When they finally met, he wrapped two fists in Sam's jacket and pulled Sam face to face with him, his shadow casting an angry silhouette on the asphalt. "Where the _hell_ have you been? We've been worried sick about you and you what? Decided to neglect to tell us where the fuck you were? We're on a hunt for Christ's sake, Sam!"

"Dean," Sam mumbled, trying to pry Dean's hands loose, "it's not like that, okay?"

Dean finally let go of Sam, who straightened out his shirt, appearing pissed off and contrite at the same time. "Then what the hell happened?"

Sam huffed in frustration. "I left the place around eleven. Alice lived a couple blocks away so I walked her home. Or at least, I tried."

Now Dean's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Tried? What? Did you two decide to make out halfway there and never make it? Really Sam? Is now the time for this?"

"Dean!" Sam hissed, grabbing his older brother by the arm and dragging him back towards the motel, hand wrapped just below Dean's left elbow. "I did _not _make out with her. We were attacked by a friggin _grizzly bear_ halfway there and had to literally break into a maintenance hut and lock the door before the thing tried to break in."

Dean stopped walking, and Sam almost fell from the abrupt halt. "Did you say a _grizzly bear_?"

Sam sighed, a breath filled with a touch of brotherly annoyance. "Yes. It was a bear, Dean. I do know what they look like."

Dean rolled his eyes but continued on towards the motel, Sam a half step behind. "Are you forgetting to take your menstrual pills again, Sammy? Maybe that's why it went after you. All that bitching and whining was like a moth to the flame."

Sam punched his brother - _hard _- in his side, and Dean cringed away from the contact. "Ass."

Another thought occurred to Dean a few steps later, still rubbing his tender side. "Why didn't you call us? Where's your phone?"

Sam did look down then, making some non-committal noise and reaching a hand into his pocket and pulling out the broken pieces of his cell phone. "It fell out of my pocket while we were running. The bear…kinda stomped on it as he tried to eat us."

Dean just shook his head in exasperation.

* * *

They walked silently the rest of the way back to their current residence, but at the door Sam paused. "How pissed is he?"

Dean paused too, the room key in the lock. "What? Dad?" At Sam's withering look, he shrugged, returning his gaze to the lock and opening the door. "He's pissed."

Sam shook his head, trudging in after his brother and closing the door. "Great. Dad's default setting."

Dean flopped onto his bed, the mattress bouncing a few times before settling, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Just calm down, alright? I'll phone Dad and tell him what happened. Just go take a shower – you smell like girl and pine needles."

Sam glanced at him with both revere and irk, but made his way to his bag and pulled out some clean clothes, looking over his shoulder one last time before closing the door. Dean was already holding his phone to his ear, waiting for his father to answer.

Stepping into the shower, Sam let the hot water cascade down his body, streams of water trickling off his hair and down his face, drowning out Dean's rebuts as his father finally answered the phone. Sam knew that his father would still find a way to be pissed off about this, but at least he had his brother to help his father see reason. And sometimes?

Dean really was an awesome brother.

There wasn't much said when John got home. He only asked Sam to give him a brief rundown of what had happened and John had taken off again to see the location where his son had been attacked. The brothers waited until the sound of the car's engine had disappeared before they sunk into their perspective beds with contented sighs.

After a few hours of sleep, the boys were up just before noon, John having arrived back at the motel an hour before, head tipped back and snoring loudly on the pull out bed. The boys silently moved around the small motel room, each tidying up the area as quietly as they could. A half hour later and Dean took off in the car, grabbing the keys off the table and going to find them lunch, while Sam booted up the computer and went to work, seeing if there was anything to the incident the kids had talked about the night before.

Sam started his search with the online newspapers, and when that didn't net him anything after forty minutes of reading, he left a note for his brother and father, saying he'd gone down to the library for more research material. Before leaving, he grabbed his father's cell, knowing they'd want to get a hold of him when they found something, or he did.

Sam left his jacket on the back of the chair, closing the motel door silently behind him as he walked the five blocks up the street towards the only library in town. A plump lady of maybe sixty with wavy gray hair ushered him in and smiled at him sweetly as he asked for town records for a research project he was doing. She pointed him to the far wall at the back of the library and showed him where the projectors were, in case he needed them.

The next two hours were spent with musty books and articles jammed into the projector, Sam constantly rubbing his eyes with tired fingers as his vision blurred from reading article after article. _New General Store to be built; Mayor Reinfield elected for second term; _the headlines gave nothing away that would indicate anything unusual or tragic had happened in this town's history.

Sighing, Sam slammed the second to last book closed, pulled out the last binder full of projector clippings and started reading the headlines, looking for anything that might explain what they were dealing with.

Ten minutes into the latest search, and Sam had a pretty good idea where to look as he jammed the article in the projector.

_Sioux Tribe to lose Reservation land to Government:_

_After a tense stand off, Government officials, along with the town's Mayor, have made a tentative deal with the local Sioux tribe to acquire a portion of reservation land for more rural development to occur, says spokesperson for Mayor Cullens. "This will provide more land for rural development for both the towns folk and increase the allure for people to come and live in Westward Falls." Says Cullens. In addition to the deal, plans to build a new reservation school after the unprecedented fire that destroyed the other one last year will take place in the fall, sources say…"_

Sam skimmed through the rest of the article and scribbled some notes on the pad of paper he had brought with him, then went down to the librarian to have a copy of the article made. Even though this happened in 1927, everything has a basis for why things happen, and this might just be what contributed to it.

With new information in hand, Sam went back to the newer records, now having a direction to focus his attention on.

* * *

Almost four hours after he started, Sam left the library and returned back to the motel, where his family were waiting after his call.

Dean ushered him in with brotherly teasing and sat him down and pushed a sandwich toward his younger brother. "Eat." He ordered, making a grab for Sam's papers sticking out of his bag while Sam made a half-hearted swat at him as he passed by.

"Give them to me, Dean." Their father called behind him as he emerged from the bathroom, face freshly shaved and the circles under his eyes less prominent. The elder brother handed over the papers silently as their father flipped through the pages of meticulous notes and paper clippings his son had collected over the past few hours.

Sam swallowed a bite of ham and cheese sandwich and spoke up while their father read and Dean sat behind John, absently reading over his shoulders. "On the last page are the names…"

"I see that, Sam." John interrupted briskly, not even looking up from the pages of notes.

Sam huffed, his frustration at being ignored apparent to his brother who just gave him a look over their father's shoulder. _Shut up and let it go._

"Okay." John finally spoke after a few long minutes, shuffling the papers in his hand. "We have some general information to go on. Dean? I want you ready to go in ten. We're going down to the reservation to talk with one of the residents that was present at the time of the land exchange back in the late twenties. We'll start there." He glanced at Sam's mutinous face and John couldn't help but sigh. "Sam, I want you to stay here. Clean the weapons and get dinner on the go around five."

"Yes sir." Sam grumbled under his breath. He was getting tired of being left behind all the time. It seemed his family only saw any worth in research from him, and any one of them could do it just as well.

His father seemed to sense his thoughts. "Sam," he warned, and then when Sam turned his eyes away, he sighed. "You're still too young to come with us on this." When it appeared that his youngest was going to protest, he put up a hand to stop him. "It's not meant as an insult. You're young for your age, Sam. People aren't going to believe that you've worked with law enforcement for a year, never mind three or four if they ask certain questions. Even Dean has his problems-"

"Hey!" A squawk of protest from his eldest had John carrying on without taking a breath.

"- pulling it off and he's only four years older than you. You do your job with research and in a few years, you can come do the interviews with us."

"But I can talk to the kids! See if they -"

His father raised a hand, silencing him. Sam grit his teeth in anger.

"They weren't born back then, son. Kids your age wouldn't have a clue what was going on then or now."

"But-" Sam started to protest, but once again his father ignored him.

"I won't hear anything more on the subject Sam. Go get the weapons bag out of the trunk. I want them spotless when we get back."

Sam's nostrils flared, anger expressed with curled fists at his side. "Sir." He managed to form between clenched teeth. This was always how the argument went down. Sam, apparently useless, knew nothing. His father was apparently God of the universe and knew everything.

He grabbed the keys roughly from the counter and peeled open the door, stomping off towards the car, not caring that his family could see his tantrum in full view. Even his brother cast an indifferent look his way and Sam's blood boiled with anger and hurt. Throwing open the trunk lid, Sam grabbed the strap and looped it around his shoulder, the duffel banging into the side of his leg as he slammed the trunk closed. Glancing towards the door, he could see his brother shrugging on his jacket, laughing at something his father said. Easy, carefree.

Sam never had that with their father. That fact always sat on his tongue like a bitter pill, all the more painful to swallow knowing he'd never have it.

Tossing the keys back to his smirking brother as he entered the room, Sam dropped the duffel on his own bed, watching it bounce twice before settling. His father and brother waved him off as they closed the door behind them, and Sam snuck to the window and moved a slip of blind away, watching them leave, feeling rejected, again.

He was beginning to really resent their life and the loneliness that came with it.

* * *

Dean rested an elbow on the door panel, chin resting on the palm of his hand, looking out at the passing scenery as they made their way towards the reservation. Dean had kept quiet during his family's rather quiet feud, but the constant arguing was wearing on his last nerves. Dean could see both sides of the argument, but found himself agreeing with his father, something he had noticed was becoming a recurring theme. He loved his kid brother, but Sam always thought he knew more than anyone else – especially their father.

Glancing at said father, Dean could read the tell tale frustration lines that etched themselves around John's mouth, the way his brow wrinkled and the grey hairs stark against his normally black hair that cropped up now and again as the years went on. His father was tired – hell, they all were. Sam had been at five different high schools in the last three months. Dad was busy chasing down ghosts, ghouls and whatever the hell else they killed at the end of the night, but it was wearing on them all. They needed a break and they needed one soon, even if it was so Sam could stay in a school for the last two months to graduate.

The car rocked as it rolled over the train tracks, and the sudden noise and abrupt motion brought Dean out of his thoughts as they pulled onto the reservation land. There wasn't much to speak of. They saw the reservation school right off the bat, or at least, the new one since the last one burned down almost eighty years ago. Its red brick structure made it look more like a prison than a school. Further down they saw old run down houses, yards that for the most part, were littered with kids' toys and the grass hadn't been cut in a while. The road was poorly maintained, and Dean felt a flutter of compassion and pity for these people. They lived in poverty, most of them. They had seen a few nice houses, but most were from the sixties or older, and with the wet weather around here, things tended to grow and keep growing, making it more difficult to keep things ordered and tidy.

"Look for 10th street, Dean. I think it's going to be on your right." John spoke suddenly, the first sound he had made since they'd left the hotel.

Dean nodded absently, scanning the street signs, looking for their turn off. "There. Next right." He pointed ahead, and they made the turn onto a quiet neighbourhood, kids running around playing, laughing.

Innocent. Something Dean hasn't had in a long time. It's a sad state of affairs if you become jealous of eight year olds.

"This is it." John murmured as he directed the Impala to lie parallel to the street, hugging the curb. "Let's see what we can learn here. Keep your eyes open, watch your flank. We don't know what else or who else might be in that house." John warned, before opening the door and slamming it closed.

Dean let out a breath and followed his father soon after, noticing as they made their way towards the door a flicker of movement in the window. A young boy, probably a year or two younger than Sam, watched then with wary eyes, before retreating from the window.

Dean frowned, but waited on the last step with his father, hearing the door bell ring distantly inside the house. The door opened, and an elderly woman answered the door and spoke quietly to his father, before he felt a hand at his back, ushering him inside.

The interrogation was on.

* * *

Sam sat on his bed, cross legged, with the computer sitting precariously on his lap while he meticulously cleaned and reloaded his brother's favourite Glock. He tapped on keys when he had a free hand, looking for a connection between the four victims. He glanced up at the clock, hearing the rhythmic _tick tock _of each passing second grate on the inside of his brain.

His family had taken off two hours ago, and it was now nearing four thirty. Their motel room had a stove and a few pots and pans available, and Sam made full use of that. He had spaghetti sauce already made up in the one pot, letting it simmer before he'd put the noodles in the larger pot to boil. Dean had taught him a few years back how to make spaghetti and it had taken a bit of time to get it just like how Dean would make it. Dean was actually a fairly decent cook, when he put his mind to it.

Chewing on the end of his nail, Sam typed in a few more sentences and tried a new search, an eye glancing up to the far wall where his father had taped up pictures and newspaper clippings of each attack, trying to make connections between the victims. Only two of the four had any connection, and it was merely a friendship that extended to the basketball courts during the fall season. The rest weren't connected at all. John had even extended the connection to the parents, but again, no connection there. Each victim that had been killed was roughly the same age, but other than that, there was nothing. The parents all worked in different areas; their homes weren't in the same neighbourhoods. The similarities ended with the kids being of close age and going to the same school. It was maddening.

He tossed the Glock by his pillow and picked up one of the shotguns, pulling the pieces apart and began cleaning them one by one, staring at the collection of papers on the far wall, trying to find some sort of connection between the victims, something that they hadn't thought of yet. _Cursed land? Can't be, nothing historical has taken place here. It was a bear attack. Possession? Dad had said there wasn't any EMF at the maintenance hut when he went to check. No sulphur residue. Only found the footprints of a very pissed off Grizzly, and a smaller set that was probably a stray dog. Ghost? Possible, but to have a very _real_ bear killing people? That doesn't make sense at all._

Sam mulled over his thoughts, cleaning and typing at the same time, and getting up to stir the sauce every couple of minutes when he remembered. When there was a scraping at the door, Sam tensed a moment, feeling the comforting feeling of his Taurus in his hand and watched as his older brother stepped through the door, grinning sheepishly at him.

"Honey I'm home!" Dean said cheerfully, closing the door behind him, pulling off his jacket and hanging it off the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "How's the cleaning coming along?" he asked, leaning against the table and peering over the computer to catch a glimpse of Sam's frustrated face.

"Slow." Sam muttered under his breath, cleaning the barrel thoroughly and scanning the article on the computer resting between his knees. "Can you stir the spaghetti sauce for me?"

"Yeah I got it." Dean moved into the kitchen and grabbed the old and worn wooden spoon lying on the counter and stirred the pots contents, taking a moment to tentatively lick off the end of the spoon, letting the spicy flavour slither over his tongue. "Mmmm… the sauce is good." He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who momentarily paused, looking at Sam oddly. "You've learned well, Padawan."

"Bite me." Sam replied succinctly, ignoring his brother when he stuck out his tongue at him childishly. He returned his attention back to the photos on the wall, staring at them, wishing for once he'd be struck with the answer that usually came easily to him.

So it startled him when he was smacked in the face with a rolled up paper ball that his brother launched at him from across the room. "Ass." He hissed, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand.

Dean snickered at him, hands resting against the back of the chair. "We're going to have to work on that attentiveness of yours, bro. A monster could have eaten your legs before you would have noticed with that 1000 mile stare you have going on with the wall."

"Shut up." Sam replied with false politeness. A sudden thought occurred to him and he placed the half-cleaned shotgun on the bed and moved the laptop, moving over to stand in front of the wall again, one finger tracing his bottom lip as he thought long and hard about the words on the wall. "What if it wasn't a connection between the kids or their parents?" He asked finally, his voice loud in the drawn out silence.

Dean frowned at him, but made his way over to stand next to his pensive brother. "Where are you going with this?"

Pieces started fitting together, or at least, a piece of the puzzle that had been nagging at Sam all day long. He moved to the bed and looked through the papers until he found the one he wanted. "Here. Look at this."

Dean took the paper and scanned the page, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "So what? We're back to the school burning?" He turned puzzled eyes on Sam. "Dude, we talked to the guy that was there. He said it was kids his own age that torched the place; said they were pissed that their culture was being phased out because of the pushy white skinned Americans. We already know this. What's important about that?"

Sam sighed, moving once again back to his bed and shuffling through papers, talking to his brother over his shoulder. "Dean, in their culture, its sacrilege to disrespect their elders. Respect is huge to them. This whole melting pot to convert them and make them into everyone else caused a huge uproar. It led to fights, riots, and there was abuse and neglect throughout history in these reservation schools." He paused, pulling out one news clipping and then another. "Maybe this is revenge. A grandson, or even a son or daughter of one of these elders could be attacking those who they felt wronged them in the past, and are doling it out now on this generation."

Dean paused on that, arms crossed against his chest, considering. "So…what's the connection then to the victims?"

Sam gathered the loose papers and handed them to his brother. "I think it has to do with their grandparents as well. I'm not sure about all the victims, but the first? His grandfather was mayor of the town during the burning of the reservation school, and had it rebuilt in the same place with a stronger more stable foundation to house it."

Dean leafed through the papers, noticing his brother's short blunt notes attached to snippets of pages. "So we have a mayor's grandson. Who else would be on a bear's dinner menu? And where the hell does a _bear_ fit into this?"

That was a part Sam was snagged on too. "I don't think it's possession."

Both boys were quiet a moment, Dean flicking through pages quietly, while Sam paced a little, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

A light bulb suddenly went off. "Skinwalker." They said at the same time, heads swivelling to each other and smirking.

"Has to be. There's got to be tons of Native American history on rituals and communion with animals. And it makes sense that the animal would manifest itself in the form of a bear."

Dean stared at him like he'd just proclaimed himself president. "Dude, stop reading the dictionary before bed." He shook his head sadly. "God, no wonder you've never been laid."

"Dean!" Sam hissed, a slight blush touching the edges of his cheeks. He was not having this conversation with his brother – _ever._

Dean just grinned at him widely, messing up Sam's hair as he walked past for which he got swatted in rebuke. "I'll finish making dinner – _you_ finish cleaning those weapons."

"Yeah yeah, okay." Sam waved his brother off and went back to sitting on his bed, picking up the discarded shotgun and grabbing the gun oil and settling back into work.

By the time Sam was reaching for the last gun to be cleaned, Dean was draining the pot, the noodles landing in a plastic wicker bowl, letting the steaming water drain out of the sink. "Grab the plates, will you Sam?" Dean asked, pulling his face away from the rising steam.

"Yeah, I got it."

They ate in companionable silence, Sam eating and researching on the computer, while Dean poured ketchup on the side of his dish, dunking loose spaghetti strands into it and shoving them into his mouth, one hand marking his place in the book he was reading.

Both turned their heads at the sound of a rattle at the door, and both watched their father trample in, door closing quietly behind him. "Is there some left?" He asked when neither boy said anything.

"Yeah, we left you some." Dean hitched his thumb behind him towards the stove.

John shook his head, exasperated. "Which means I'm eating crumbs."

Both boys grinned at each other as their father passed them by to scrounge up the last of the food.

"So what did you find out Dad?" Sam asked after his father had taken a few bites of steaming hot spaghetti.

His father gave him an odd look, one Sam couldn't place. "Found a connection – Mr. Rifton, the man you and I saw earlier today Dean?"

Dean nodded in the affirmative, shoving another mouthful of food into his mouth.

"He gave us the names of two of the men that burned the school down back in the twenties. I think we've been looking for a connection, but in the wrong generation." He paused, looking at both. "Both have grandchildren, but only one of them has a criminal record. Daryl Hithrow. He had a run in with one of the victims about a month ago."

Score one for Sam. He couldn't help but hide a smile, pleased with himself that he'd been on the right track after all.

Dean swallowed, and then reached for his glass of water. "So this is the dude we're looking for. Has a connection to at least one of the victims, why not the others?"

John studied him for a moment, then reaching into his inner jacket pocket and pulling out a few sheets of paper. "There is." He handed the sheets to Dean, who flipped through them, and slapped Sam's hand away when he tried to reach for it. "All of the four victims so far have had a connection to the burning of that school. The second victim was related to the chief builder of both buildings."

Dean snorted. "Definitely on the guy's shit list."

"Watch your mouth, Dean." John warned.

"Sorry sir."

Sam clicked a few buttons on the computer, bringing up his own text. "And the first victim was related to the major of the town during that time."

John looked at him, surprised. "Yes, that's right."

Dean read from the pages. "The third was in relation to the guy who 'bought' the land from the reservation, and the fourth? His grandfather was the investigator who actually pinned the fire on two guys who burned the sucker to the ground."

"There's motive there." Sam thought about the attack the day previous and wondered aloud. "Maybe the incident was with Mike? The last victim?"

His family looked at him in with raised eyebrows. "When I was with Alice and her friends the other night, they had said Mike had been in a confrontation with one of the reservation kids. Apparently the kid had told him to stay away from his family."

Dean thought about that. "Maybe he got into a fight, this Mike kid was threatening charges, and the family was being harassed?"

"Very well could be." John answered. "But I think it's going to and try and finish off what it started the other night." He looked at Dean pointedly.

Sam frowned. "Alice."

"Yeah, why go after her? What's her connection in all of this?" Dean said curiously, propping his chin on a closed fist.

Sam thought about that, thinking back on what she'd let slip last night. "Well, I think her Dad is a police officer. Wanna bet her grandfather was too?"

"Dude, you were going to -"

"Dean," Sam warned, voice deep and as deadly as a cobra's venom, "don't you _dare_ finish that sentence."

"Boys, enough." John sighed, watching as Dean stuck his tongue out at Sam, who retaliated by throwing a pen at his brother. His eldest deflected it with a flick of his hand. "I think we're dealing with a Berserker here. A variation of a skinwalker."

"I've heard of those." Sam said, mentally pulling out any and all information he could remember on them.

"Nerd." Dean murmured affectionately, grinning from ear to ear when Sam levelled him with an icy glare.

"They use actual animal skins in order to take their form. They use a ritual to complete the transformation and it leaves them infused with the animal's strength and its rage."

John nodded in the affirmative, quite pleased. "There's magic involved in a ritual like this, so the way to stop him?" John left the question hanging.

"Fire." Dean answered with a grin.

Dean and his father started talking strategy for how to kill the skinwalker, and Sam moved quietly over to where his father had sat, picking up one of the pictures. It was of a man in his late twenties, thick build, shadowed eyes and short black bristled hair. And it was someone they were going to hunt and most likely kill.

It wasn't the first time Sam had internal struggles about whether what they hunted was moral or not. It was a struggle his family didn't seem to share with him. Their mindset was that there are two kinds of people in this world – good and evil.

Where did that leave everyone else in between?

"Move it short ass, we've got a bear skin rug to bring home." Dean shoved him out of the way, grabbing his newly cleaned glock and loading it into the back of his jeans, then grabbing Sam's and tossing it at him. "Load up. We're out of here in ten. Dad wants to stake out the girl's neighbourhood first, see where the bastard might try and attack from."

Sam hadn't even noticed his father wasn't in the room anymore. "We have flares?"

Dean grinned, waving a flare gun in his face a few seconds later. "Right here, sunshine. You can be a big boy tonight and carry one."

Sam made to punch his brother in the arm, but it was deflected. "Jerk." He muttered, though the slight curl of his lips gave away his mirth.

"Whatever bitch, let's lock and load."

* * *

By the time the boys settled into their positions, the sun had fallen behind the mountain and darkness was creeping over the little town. The foliage around them was thick – the trees large and the ferns densely packed in around them and the grass was burned and brittle from the intense heat. It would make sneaking up on the Berserker harder to do.

Their father had instructed them to use bullets to lure the skinwalker out into an open gravel parking lot not two hundred yards off to their right. They didn't want to risk starting a forest fire with the flare guns which would pretty much guarantee a fire with just one spark.

So the brothers sat about thirty feet into the bushes, watching from the distance Alice's house, keeping an eye out for Yogi the Man-Eating Bear.

They had been out there three hours and nothing had happened. Not a branch snapping, not a bush rustling, nothing. It was eerily silent.

"Hey Dean?" Sam whispered next to him, rolling his shoulders, trying to loosen them up. "Do you think we might have missed something?"

"With what?" Dean answered just as quietly, voiced hushed in the silent forest. "It's a simple case of revenge with some whacked out guy looking to eat away crimes against old pappy. What's not to get?"

Sam shrugged, one hand bringing up the night vision binoculars and scanning their surroundings once more. "I dunno, I just- I feel like there's more to this. There's something we're missing."

Dean shook his head, bemused. "You're just being paranoid. We've got this case man, focus on the hunt." He added on, feeling Sam stiffen beside him. Sometimes Sam's constant second guessing drove him up the wall and back down. Their dad knew his stuff and all of them had taken a look into it. Hell, Sam had done half the work on research for this thing, if not more.

They slipped into uneasy silence once more, seeing the last light in the house disappear as the occupants finally settled into bed.

Another hour passed by with nothing to show for it. With the house being at the end of a cul-de-sac with no houses directly beside it, it was still closer to civilization than the other attacks. Hopefully not too close that they couldn't kill the damn thing, but far enough no one else will notice a flaming bear run by their house when they light him up.

"What time is it?" Sam asked tiredly next to him, eyes scanning the area next to the house with mild interest.

Dean checked his watch by pressing the backlight before picking up his binoculars again. "Quarter past two." He whispered tiredly while trying to stifle a yawn.

He felt Sam stiffen next to him. "Dean. Ten o'clock."

Dean looked towards the direction Sam gave him and could just make out a figure shifting around the other side of the house. "Move." He ordered, and both boys tried to move as stealthily out of the bushes as they could.

When they reached the back stairs leading to the deck, they paused, Sam turning around to protect their flank while Dean moved silently forward, pulling out his flashlight and looking at the ground. "Dude," he whispered to Sam's back, "it's not bear tracks. Looks like a dog went through here."

Sam did glance over his shoulder then, looking at where his brother's flashlight met ground. Indeed, several dog-like paw prints were scattered along the one side of the house, coming in from the forest.

Sam didn't have any more time to ponder that thought when a roar and howl echoed through the forest, the very hair on the back of his neck prickling at the shrill sound.

"I think the bear has come for dinner." Dean muttered at his back, his gun pointed toward the forest where twigs and branches could be heard snapping from a very large form roaming in the bushes.

After a few tense minutes, the large figure appeared at the edge of the trees, not thirty feet away. Dean flicked the flashlight in its direction and there was the Berserker, a massive 800 pound beast of muscle, claws and teeth.

"It's not that big." Dean kidded, the next moment feeling his jaw drop when the thing stood _up._ The Berserker towered at an impressive eight foot four inch height, drooling mouth opening to reveal long sharp teeth and four inch claws attached to each paw and Dean felt a little bit humbled. "Hey Sam." He asked quietly, his eyes staying on the approaching bear. "How fast can these suckers run?"

"Umm…" Sam paused, licking suddenly dry lips. This was just as intimidating as it had been the other night, even with his brother standing right beside him. "Without including any supernatural heightened strength, speed, or the terrain in which…"

"Sam?" His brother was quiet then. "Short answer buddy." He asked dryly.

Sam swallowed thickly. "Say about twenty to twenty-five miles an hour."

Dean swallowed pushing his brother back as the Berserker advanced carefully, stalking his new prey. "And how fast can you run?"

Sam threw him a look. "Not _that_ freaking fast."

The bear charged, the ground shuddering with each galloping step. "Well time to break land speed record. Go!" Dean pushed on Sam's back and they ran towards the street, Dean firing off a few shots at the Berserker's head with no effect. It just seemed to piss the thing off even more as it gained on them with furious speed. "Shit. Move Sam, move!"

They ran for the pavement and relative flat surface of the back parking lot, knowing their dad was waiting for them on the other side to get a clean shot – lure, bait and trap.

But they hadn't counted on the creature being that _fast_.

The boys parted, one going left, the other right, just as the bear breathed heavily on their necks, jaw extended, teeth snapping together just inches from Dean's left shoulder as he turned sharply right.

But the Berserker wasn't finished.

In a move that surprised even Dean, the Berserker threw out a massive paw, catching the elder brother in the side just under his arm and sending him flying against the tarmac, his body thumping against the ground harshly and bounced once more before coming to stop on his stomach, coughing harshly from lungs struck frozen.

The Berserker snarled, advancing on the downed Winchester.

That is, until several bullets ricochet off his head and shoulder, his ravage eyes focusing on the youngest Winchester who trained a gun on him. "Come and get me you sonofabitch." Sam hissed, his attention focused on the lumbering hulking mass of fur and rage that was coming his way. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his brother trying to raise himself up from the ground, groping around trying to find his fallen gun.

The Berserker snarled, white teeth glistening in the moonlight as he prepared to jump the younger brother, sink his canines into the tender throat and tear him to bloody pieces.

That is, until he caught sight of a red missile aimed at him.

The Berserker jumped back, pushing himself on his hind legs and roaring as the flare missed, igniting brittle twigs on the lot's ground and catching fire, the bear's fur a light brown in the flickering flames that danced at his feet.

Sam caught sight of his father, flare gun poised and aimed at the Berserker who was snarling and snapping at the flames that licked its feet. Making a quick decision, he moved towards his brother who was struggling to stand. "Come on Dean, get up." He grabbed Dean by the arm and played crutch, helping him to stand.

A sudden shout had them both turning their heads. "Boys! Move!"

Like something out of a horror movie, the bear made a leap over the foot and a half high flames, claws reaching and teeth extended. Sam had just enough time to shove his brother out of the way and throw himself to the ground, feeling claws catch his jacket and graze skin, the marks burning with open air as he landed with a jarring thud, rolling to the side and stopping when he'd smacked into his brother. The bear shook the ground as it landed, claws scraping against the asphalt as it turned to look down on the youngest Winchester who'd lost a hold of his gun.

"Eat this." Dean hissed as he lifted his arm just over Sam's shoulder. He fired the flare gun, just as John did, the twin flares doing what the first could not.

The Berserker howled; its feet were on fire as was its right side, dancing and stomping on the ground like an intricate dance pattern that the boys watched silently, hearing the cries echo in the gravel lot, chilling them both.

Gold and green flickers appeared in the otherwise orange flames, the Berserker eventually slumping to the ground, the fire eating away with tentative strokes, and Sam had to look away, feeling the prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes. The Berserker may have killed people, but underneath, there was a person in there with his own family, and Sam mourned for them and their loss.

It was never easy to take a life, especially when the man could have made better choices. He wasn't the typical Supernatural being, and this hunt hurt in ways the others never had.

"Sam? You okay?"

The quiet voice broke through his thoughts and he flopped onto his back and looked up at his brother who leaned over him, green eyes pinched with pain and concern. "I'm okay. You?"

Dean patted him on the chest, then groaned as he levered himself up. "I'm always okay." He offered a hand to Sam who took it. "Up you go." He groaned a bit, they both did, ignoring the smell of burning flesh that lay crumpled in a heap only eight feet away. "Let me look at your back." He insisted, waving a hand in front of his face to fan away the smoke.

"I'm fine, Dean. Just a few scratches." Sam complained, not wanting to be fussed over.

Dean didn't give him a choice. "Well suck it up princess." He turned Sam around and pulled gently on the tears, eliciting a hiss from his brother as he clicked on his flashlight. "Doesn't look like it'll need stitches, which is good." He finally said after probing the wounds carefully for a minute.

John was busy bringing around a fire extinguisher, dosing the flames out and then turning it on their charred adversary. Dogs could be heard barking in the neighbourhood, and two of the houses down the street had their porch lights now on. They needed to leave before the cops were called.

"What are we going to do about this?" Sam asked, waving a vague hand over the charred remains.

"Not much we can do. Let's just… clean it up and make sure not to leave any evidence behind." John said briskly, carrying the fire extinguisher under one arm and picking up spent shell casings, feeling his knees crack with strain. "Dean? Sam? Why don't you guys go load the weapons into the car? I'll be there in a few minutes."

Both boys nodded and picked up their things and trudged back towards the car. They had parked the vehicle on the next street over, close to the trees, to hide suspicion, and now walked tiredly through the ankle high dry grass down an embankment to get back to the street.

"Man, I'm tired. I could sleep for a week."

Sam snorted, falling in step beside his brother. "You probably could. Lazy enough to do it."

Dean shoved his brother to the side, careful not to shove him into the ditch that ran alongside the woods. "Lazy? I'll show you lazy when we spar next." He slapped Sam on the back, making sure to hit it just hard enough to make it hurt.

Sam sputtered a pained laugh. "Yeah right."

They tapered off into silence when another set of prints appeared in the dirt alongside the ditch. Dean paused, examining them. "My God, people should learn to tie up their dogs at night. The thing could have ended up a Scooby snack."

Sam frowned, crouching down and examined the marks more closely. "These look like the same ones from earlier tonight."

Dean snorted, already moving on towards the car. "Probably is. Could be a stray, wandering around looking for something to eat."

Sam shrugged, pushing himself up and dusting off the dirt from his knees. "Could be -"

He lost his train of thought when he looked up and saw yellow eyes staring at him from across the road. There was a blur of movement, and then it became clear those yellow eyes were attached to something much larger.

It wasn't a stray dog.

It was a massive grey wolf.

And it was running towards his oblivious brother.

Sam snapped out of his shock and ran towards Dean, who turned, startled at the pounding feet behind him, and Sam barrelled into him, knocking Dean sideways and to the ground, just as the wolf struck.

Sam felt like he'd been hit by a linebacker, felt paws plant against his chest and push him backwards into the ditch. His head hit first, cracking against stone and dirt, his body following him soon after.

The wolf landed with a thud next to his head, and dully Sam looked up into blazing eyes and snarling teeth, his brother shouting from somewhere above him.

He didn't get a chance to call for help, only to cry out when teeth tore into the meat of his shoulder and started to drag him away into the forest with a speed that made it impossible for it to be anything but supernatural.

Now Sam understood what had made him uneasy about this case – why something felt incomplete. There had been paw prints not of a bear, but of a wolf at the first attack, and during the last few hours when they'd taken down the Berserker.

But there was a fact Sam now just remembered about Berserkers.

They could take the form of either a bear _or_ a wolf.

Dean shouted for him, but Sam could no longer hear him, feeling leaves, twigs and bushes catch and tear at his clothing as the Berserker dragged him away from his family. He could feel bone grinding against bone as the wolf's teeth dug in deeper and blood soaked both shirt and jacket.

He gave one last shout, fingers scrambling for purchase against rocks and branches, hoping to stall the thing before they disappeared for good. "Dean!"

* * *

A/N: *looks up* Huh. Guess I left you all at a bit of a cliffie... my bad :p *teehee* Only one more chapter to go!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Well, this is the last chapter folks! To those that reviewed - I humbly thank you :) They always mean a lot to me.

A/N #2: Some swearing. And again, a big thanks to my betas: AnickaMarie and Geminigrl11.

* * *

Dean was freaking out – totally and unashamedly off-his-rocker crazy. "Sam!" He wasn't sure if he was yelling, or if it was manly screaming, but he didn't care. The whole neighbourhood could wake up and call the cops for the delusional youth yelling at the top of his lungs, but he just saw his brother tackled and carried off by a fucking _wolf_, and he was terrified by Sam's screams echoing from the forest, and finding it difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

"Dean? Sam?"

Dean swallowed a massive lump in his throat and ran for his father, who had now made it to the road. Porch lights from several houses were now on and Dean didn't care if the cops come or if his father wanted to berate him for losing Sam, but he just wanted his brother _back_, and he'd do whatever it took to make sure it happened.

His father was yelling at him now, running for him when he finally noticed that Sam was nowhere to be seen and Dean got his shit together enough to tell him what happened.

"A wolf got Sam! It dragged him into the woods and I couldn't stop it, and there was blood on the ground and he was _screaming_, and I-" Okay so, only somewhat coherent, but Jesus, he just saw his brother get dragged away like a dog's chew toy. He the right to be a bit scrambled!

Strong hands wrapped around his biceps and gave him a hard shake, rattling his teeth inside his head. "Dean, calm down! We'll find Sammy, okay?" John was treating him like he would a victim, and Dean forced himself to take a breath and think rationally beyond _Sammy's hurt, I let this happen, holy shit._

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Dean let out a long breath, feeling the tension leave his shoulders, allowing common sense and his hunter's instincts to take front and center to the frantic brother who was screaming incoherently in the back of his head.

John looked him over, apparently seeing what he wanted and gave his eldest a pat on the shoulder. "Alright. Get in the car. I want you to follow the road and see if it crosses over to the other side. I'm going to follow the trail. We obviously have a second Berserker on our hands, God forbid we have a third out there."

Dean shook his head. "But Dad -"

His father rounded on him, anger easily readable on the scowling face. "That's an _order_ Dean! I will not risk you getting attacked out there! Do you understand me?"

The elder brother ducked his head and swallowed, feeling the weight of car keys thrust into his hand.

"Good. Follow the road and look out for your brother. Carry a flare gun in the front seat. Let's go find Sam." A moment later John was sliding down into the ditch, flashlight out, and moving swiftly into the bushes, intent on finding his youngest son.

Dean bolted for the car, lungs whistling with each puff of air he pulled into and out of his lungs. "Hold on Sam. We're coming."

* * *

Sam now knew intimately what a chew toy felt like.

He cried out when the Berserker shook him from side to side, feeling its teeth sink deeper into his flesh, having the sensation of them being sawed and ripped apart, from the fat and muscle all the way to the bone. The top half of his shirt was soaked in blood, the other half was ripped and dirt encrusted from being dragged through lush greenery and smacking into the odd rock or tree.

Sam's left arm felt hot and strained and he didn't know how long this could go on for before the bastard pulled it out of its socket. Scrambling, he finally managed to pry a rock out of the ground with his right hand, and with what leverage he could get, he smashed the rock into one of the glowing yellow eyes.

The wolf howled, dropping Sam and pawing at its damaged eye, blood dribbling off of its lower jaw.

Sam swallowed bile, pulled himself up, and made a break for it, running back blindly in what he thought was the right direction, pushing bushes away, thorns drawing blood, but he didn't care. He needed to get back to the road, back to relative safety.

He only got a dozen feet when the Berserker ploughed into his back, forcing him off his feet where his face smashed into the side of a tree. An explosion of lights flitted across his sight, the bark from the tree peeling on impact. Blood flowed as the youngest Winchester hit the ground and didn't move.

The Berserker snarled, teeth bared, and sniffed the fallen teen, nudging Sam with the end of his nose.

The teen didn't move, his face tacky with blood, eyes closed, and the wolf sought to make sure the hunter wouldn't be getting up again.

Moving towards the fallen Winchester, the creature grabbed hold of his leg and bit down – hard. The bones snapped together with a sickening crunch with a twist of his head and his prey howled in agony, even from the depths of unconsciousness.

The wolf's ears flicked, hearing human footsteps approaching from the south. He needed to keep moving.

As quietly as he could, he dragged the youngest Winchester further into the woods. Sam lay unconscious on his belly, leaves and twigs getting caught in his lax fingers, his face bumping against roots and rocks as he was quickly and quietly pulled away from his searching family.

* * *

There was a jarring motion that jolted Sam back to consciousness, only to feel himself plummet, landing hard on a set of landing stairs as he rolled down to the bottom, groaning and clawing at the ground to escape the pain that radiated from his foot to his head.

There was a creak on the steps as someone descended, and Sam tried to push himself up on his right elbow, blinking blood away from his vision as someone's shoes entered his blurred line of sight. "Get away from me." Sam's voice was hoarse, and nowhere near as threatening as he would have liked it to be.

There was a cold chuckle, and a firm hand snaked into the front of his jacket and lifted him up with a grunt so that he was nose to nose with the human form of the Berserker. "And what are you going to do about it, _boy?_"

* * *

Dean had been scanning the same stretch of road for the last fifteen minutes, with no sign of his brother and the Berserker, nor his father. His hands itched to do something other than drive the car, and frustration and fear mounted higher until the car was thick with it. "Damnit!" He hissed, banging his fist on the steering wheel.

It was in that moment of helplessness that Dean noticed for the first time where this road was taking him. He blinked, looking ahead and noticed that the road came to a four-way stop, and that if he turned right, it led him towards the railway crossing and over to the reservation. And near the crossing, sitting by its lonesome, was the old reservation school that closed down several years before.

Right where everything began.

"_Sonofabitch_ went back to home turf." Dean hissed under his breath as he dug frantically for his phone in his pocket, pulling it out and hitting speed dial. The phone was picked up on the first ring. "Dad! I know where Sam is!"

* * *

The eyes that looked at him were vibrant green, a mouth pulled into a tight smile that belied the snarl waiting to come out. The man was in his mid- to late twenties, not terribly much older than Dean, his skin a rich olive, his nose slightly hooked, with black hair at shoulder length. But his eyes were haunted and murderous, and Sam had to swallow back a cry when he was dropped unceremoniously to the cement floor.

"Why? Why kill all those people?" Sam pushed himself up until he was resting his back against the far wall. "What for? Some vain attempt to provide honour and show respect to your elders by killing descendants of those who wronged them?"

Sam watched the broad form shudder, the barb hitting with all brutal intensity. He was unprepared though, when the man picked him up by the front of his t-shift and bodily lifted him up, forcing him to put weight on his broken leg.

"They showed disrespect not only to my elders, but to our _culture_. Treating us like second class citizens and for what?" The incensed man dropped Sam to the floor with a groan, turning his back on him. "So we would be forced to give up our culture to be more like _you?_"

"I'm sorry for what happened back then." Sam tried levering himself up, but slumped back against the cold stone at his back, trying vainly to blink away blurred vision from eyes that were rapidly swelling shut. "But what you're doing? It isn't justice – it isn't honourable either. You're killing people out of your own self righteousness and you don't even see it."

Sam didn't even see the blow when it hit. He was sucker punched, gasping and bent over, wheezing, trying to get some air in, but was grabbed by the back of his shirt and dragged towards the center of the room before he could. He was dropped a moment later, coughing hacking coughs and trying to curl himself into a ball.

But it seemed the Berserker had other plans.

The man kneeled down beside Sam and wrapped meaty hands around his neck, thumbs digging into the underside of Sam's chin and constricting air flow, the youngest hunter's hands flailing in an attempt to get the offending hands away. "You helped kill my brother, and I will return the favour it kind by killing _you._"

* * *

Dean pounded up the wooden steps, and yanking hard on the metal handle, tugging uselessly. "Come on!" He yelled in frustration, pounding on the door in anger. A moment later he banged his head on the glass. "Dean, you idiot, use your brain!" He cursed at himself and brought the gun to the window and fired two shots, the glass cracking and splintering on impact.

Driving an elbow into the glass shattered the remaining pieces and Dean reached an arm through the window and unlocked the door, tearing it open and moving inside. Before the door closed it swung open once more and Dean aimed his gun at the new intruder, swearing in the next breath when he realized it was his father.

"Dean, take the left, I'll go right. Stay alert." John ordered, his gun already drawn and at the ready, a flashlight held in his left hand and a flare gun tucked into the back of his jeans.

They circled the small school, passed by six small classrooms and circled back. "Dad…." Dean's small cry bit down to the bone and John swallowed heavily, knowing time was running out for them _and_ for Sam.

A sudden but faint thump had them pausing, ears strained to locate the noise.

Another soft thump and Dean was running towards what he figured was the basement stairs at the other side of the hall, giving the door handle a tug and pulling it open, feeling his dad's presence at his back.

They slipped silently down the stairs.

* * *

_So this is what it's like to die._

He pawed uselessly at the hands that gripped him tightly, body bucking against the weight that settled against his chest when the Berserker placed his knee against his sternum to keep him in place. All the while he stared into murderous dark eyes that bore into him like liquid steel.

A grating wheeze accompanied the last attempt to remove the iron hands around his throat, but the effort was minuscule to what was needed and Sam felt the weight in his arms and hands prove too much to bear and they fell silently by his sides.

His vision blackened, the _whoosh whoosh _of blood ringing in his ears, and just before the darkness claimed him, there was a gunshot that rang hollowly through him.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

Dean was the first to reach the last stair case and the scene playing out just fifteen feet from him left him near slack jawed and stunned.

The Berserker had finally returned to human form, but had a knee on his brother's chest, hands wrapped around Sam's neck like a noose, strangling him.

That asshole had to _die_. "Hey!" He shouted, and the skinwalker glanced over, eyes widening just as Dean fired the bullet, snapping out a curse when the bullet missed, the Berserker running for the other door and disappearing behind it.

A hand snaked out and shook him – hard. "Dean! Get to your brother and stay with him! Now!" John barked, pushing past his oldest and at the same time nudging Dean towards his brother.

Dean jumped the last few stairs and dropped to his knees beside Sam's lax body and swallowed bile. Sam was a mess.

The entire right side of his face was swollen. Blood flowed in rivulets down his face from a cut just under his hairline, the skin splitting over a massive goose egg. His nose also looked swollen, possibly broken but difficult to tell. His throat was vivid red, barely discernable handprints would be bold and purple in a few hours time. His shoulder was a mess, blood pooling just under the joint, just the same as his right leg, bent at an awkward angle and seeping blood.

Dean leaned over his brother's head and check for breathing. "Come on Sam, I need you to wake up buddy." Dean cajoled, tilting Sam's head back to ease the passage of breathing and listened hard. There, Dean could feel small puffs of air against his cheek and he sagged, visibly relieved, head resting momentarily against Sam's undamaged shoulder. Though the breaths were wispy and ragged at best, Sam was still breathing and Dean couldn't that as at least one blessing. "Okay, I can fix this buddy, alright? We're going to get you out of here."

Dean could hear shots being fired, and tried not to flinch at the shrillness of the sound. With one hand, he started pulling his jacket off, draping it across Sam to help keep him warm. With the other hand, he flipped his phone opened and deftly dialled for an ambulance, knowing Sam's care was beyond what he or his father could provide.

"It'll be okay Sam." He whispered as the other end of the phone line was answered.

* * *

There were lights above him – painful, thousand-watt bulbs glaring down at him just as Sam's eyes slit open. One after another and another, like looking into a tunnel, with the lights zipping past them as they make their way through.

"Seventeen year old male… multiple fractures…."

Distant, unfamiliar voices pulled at him, even rocking him as he felt the movement of his body beneath him, making him nauseous. There was something transparent and bulky covering his face, and his neck was immobilized

"…accident… family found him…"

Something under him made a metallic clicking sound, and Sam groaned when the movement ceased.

Something warm gripped what Sam thought was his hand. "Son? Can you open your eyes for me?"

He hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes again. The voice was grating, but not harsh sounding like he expected, nor was it gruff, belying the soft tender voice he knew should be there.

It was not his family.

And he let the voice and the world around him slip away.

* * *

Dean sat in a hardback chair, a once dusty-blue that now was more white that peeled off at his touch.

They'd been sitting there for over four hours, waiting on news from the surgeon who had taken Sam behind the dreaded red line almost as soon as they had gotten there.

They were in a neighbouring town, about an hour away from where the paramedics had picked Sam up, the small town's clinic not adequate enough to handle Sam's injuries on its own. So the ambulance drove him here, to this county hospital where they had glanced once at him and had redlined him to surgery for his leg They'd found out it was an open fracture, a piece of Sam's tibia sticking out of his skin like a horn, actually poking a hole in his frayed jeans. Dean had nearly thrown up over Sam when he'd first seen the injury, and now he was trying to block the image out of his mind.

His father was a silent presence beside him, eyes watching the double doors that led to the operating room, mocking him. John hadn't said much since they arrived – he mechanically did the paperwork, bull shitting his way through most of the questions, and handed the fake insurance card over to the receptionist, who took it with wrinkled hands and a crooked smile, one that John could not force himself to reciprocate.

So now they waited with bated breath, caffeine giving way to adrenaline as the minutes ticked by on an old black and white clock that sat above the swinging doors, ticking the seconds away.

It was _agonizing_.

There were a few patrons left in the waiting room – one young mother and her small child, whose big brown eyes reminded John so much of his youngest that he had to look away.

He had killed the Berserker just as it had taken wolf form, vaporizing it in a shroud of flame, barely letting the blackened figure register with him before he was flying back toward his sons, dropping down beside his eldest and applying pressure to the worst of the wounds on his youngest, who remained frighteningly still between them.

They had tried cajoling Sam into waking, but Sam remained inertly unconscious, even to the gentle prods and pokes of the paramedics who readied him for transport to the hospital.

It had been a long night, for all of them. John's only concern now was getting to see his youngest again.

As if someone was reading his thoughts, a man of his late thirties pushed against the doors, letting them swing shut behind him. "Family of Sam Garver?"

* * *

There was a muted numbness – a kiss of cold air that tickled his skin and raised goosebumps on his flesh. He was light and heavy, cold and hot, weak and strong, and the collectiveness of it bound him in this half existence that he found himself trapped in.

He pried his eyelids open enough to see pastel colored walls, bedside railings and an old oak clock that ticked a steady rhythm as the seconds pass by. He started to close his eyes again when there was a touch of movement by the end of his bed. Sam frowned, and turned his head to look over the other side of the bed.

Sickly yellow eyes stared back at him.

Sam froze, mouth dry and panic ensued as he tried desperately to get away from the beast that had come back to finish what he started. But his body wouldn't move, too bogged down and sluggish. In the next instant the eyes were in front of him, glistening white teeth inches from his jugular.

_I didn't forget about you. _The harsh raspy voice echoed in his head, just seconds before the teeth descended, Sam's scream cut off with a gurgle as blood pooled out around him, turning the once crisp white sheets a murderous red.

* * *

Sam's eyes snapped open and he gasped, back lurching off the bed as he struggled to breathe, which was made all the more difficult when he felt the fire lick at him from all sides, injury and exhaustion sapping what was left of his strength.

And suddenly, there was a hand grasping his, a familiar voice rising above the pain. "Hey, Sammy, hey! Calm down, alright? Listen to me - you're safe okay buddy?"

Sam sucked in a huge gulp of air, the fire receding ever so slowly to a dull throb at the base of his skull and at the joint in his left shoulder. When he could finally blink away the fuzziness, he could see Dean's haggard outline watching him with tension lining his shoulders. That tension relaxed when Dean smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Finally got tired of sleeping, eh bro?" Dean asked, but didn't expect an answer. He sat tentatively on the edge of his brother's bed, looking for the first time into bloodshot eyes - well _one_ bloodshot eye, since the other was still swollen shut - that actually recognized him.

Sam had been in and out of consciousness since after the surgery almost two and a half days ago. They had moved him to ICU where they could monitor him and the equipment he was attached to, including a respirator when Sam's airway threatened to swell shut from the strangulation. The doctors had cleared him to be taken off of it only a few hours earlier, and they had hoped Sam would be more lucid as they weaned him off the heavy duty drugs and allowing his head to clear.

Looking at Sam now, his face was a mess of scratches and dark purple and green bruises, right eye swollen shut, throat decorated in a purpling hand print that wrapped itself completely around his neck. His left arm was strapped to his chest to keep it immobile, and the large white cast propped up on a kind of pulley system and supported by a stack of pillows, Sam was the definition of a train wreck – but he was going to live to be able to tell everyone that.

Dean cleared his throat. "So you want anything to drink? You gotta be thirsty man."

Sam opened his mouth to answer and all that came out was a squeak, followed by hoarse coughs that cracked and tore at his throat with vigour. Even the feel of oxygen being fed into him with a nasal cannula didn't seem to help any, the cool air going right out as he tried to cough up a lung.

But Dean was there, rubbing his back in gentle circles while he coached Sam in how to slow his breathing. "Take it easy. Just slow it down and the coughing will ease."

Sam nodded wordlessly and tried to relax, closing his eyes and focused on lengthening his breaths, feeling the strain and tension slowly ebb away. When he opened his eyes again, Dean was holding out a cup of water for him.

"Drink this slowly, okay? And for the record – your throat's a mess; I don't think you'll be doing much talking for another day or two." He smiled crookedly at Sam when he took the glass from him, before adding, "It'll be nice – I don't have to listen to you bitch and whine for another day. Ah, freedom." He grinned, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.

Sam almost choked on the water, but swallowed it down, all the while staring murderously at his older brother when he shakily placed the cup back on the nightstand beside him.

"What a drama queen." Dean breathed, rubbing his brow with one hand. When Sam gestured weakly towards the door with one hand, Dean had an idea of what he wanted. "You're wondering where Dad is?"

Sam nodded, too tired to do anything more.

Dean put his feet up on Sam's bed. "He went back to the motel to get some sleep and have a shower. He said he'd be back later this afternoon to check up on you."

"Hmm…." Sam murmured, eyes already sinking shut.

Dean shook his head fondly. "Just go back to sleep you big geek."

Sam seemed to agree, and drifted off a few moments later.

* * *

It felt like it had taken another day before Sam could truly feel coherent enough to have meaningful conversations with his family. His leg throbbed, his shoulder burned, and his face felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. But his family was there, being supportive through most of it, and Sam appreciated every moment of it.

Well, okay, some moments were better than others.

But Sam was surprised while, when trying to use one hand to eat some pudding that the nurse had brought in for him that Dean sat there and apologized. "What did you say?" He asked around a mouthful of chocolate, voice still barely above a whisper in deference to his still healing throat.

Dean sighed, running an agitated hand through short spiky hair. "I'm sorry man, okay? You were right. You said something about this case was off and I didn't listen to you."

Sam snorted. "Dean, when do you _ever_ listen to me? I don't expect that to change anytime soon."

Dean looked crestfallen. "But I -"

Sam held up one hand, stopping him. "You couldn't have known what would happen, Dean. Hell none of us figured out there was a second skinwalker until it was literally in our faces. I'm going to be fine, Dean. This was not your fault."

Dean's face puckered. "And what if you hadn't been _fine? _You call a broken leg and fractured collar bone _fine?_" He threw up his hands in frustration."Not to mention the concussion on top of everything else."

Sam shook his head. "Dean-"

His brother loomed over him, eyes hard. "Do you know what would have happened if you had _died?_ Do you have any idea what that would have done to Dad?" _To me?_

Sam frowned. Where was all of this coming from?

"Dean," Sam put the empty bowl down on the side table and dropped the spoon in it, "I want you to listen to me. You can't go thinking 'what if' when we're on a hunt. It'll drive you _insane_." Sam was speaking from experience – all those times he'd been left behind on hunts because he was too young, wondering if he would have a family the next morning when neither showed up. It tested a person's will not to break and shatter to unrecognisable pieces.

"You know from the Doctor's mouth that I'm going to make a full recovery and that Dad'll have my ass back in training as soon as the cast comes off." He leaned forward, seeing Dean tense at the movement. "I don't blame you for what happened. It could have just as easily been you, or Dad who got attacked. Sometimes, shit happens." He grinned shakily at his brother. "Isn't that what you taught me?"

"I taught you a lot of things that you never recall, but that's the one that sticks?" Dean shook his head, looking amused. "And we're going to have to go over this whole 'self sacrificial' thing you've got going on."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Why? Because that's your thing?"

Dean grinned. "Exactly."

Their conversation tapered off into companionable silence. Dean flicking through a magazine he'd swiped from the waiting room, and Sam pulling on loose threads from his blanket, eyes drooping every once in a while as he fought sleep.

"Hey Dean?" Sam asks suddenly.

Dean looked up from his magazine. "Yeah?"

A pause. "When am I going to get out of here?"

Dean seemed to think about that for a moment. "Depends, I guess. If Dad can convince them to let you out early, you might get out on Saturday."

Sam let his head fall back on the pillow. "Another three days? This sucks."

Dean grinned at his magazine, like he thought Sam can't see him. Sam huffed and closed his eyes.

* * *

It was actually Friday afternoon when Sam was released from the hospital, after his doctor very begrudgingly signed his release papers. Sam's face was slowly starting to heal – the bruises were more green and fading, and no longer resembling a bloated plum. He grumbled though, good-naturedly with his sibling, about having to be pushed down the hall in a wheelchair, but both boys knew Sam wouldn't be able to walk out of there under his own steam yet. He still had to master the use of crutches first, and that wore him out just getting from the bathroom back to bed.

Their father walked behind his squabbling kids, carrying Sam's belongings under one arm and holding a bag filled with prescriptions for his youngest son in the other.

The nursing staff waved them off, wishing the family the best and giving final words of instructions as they passed through the double doors to freedom. Dean opened the back passenger door and helped Sam to stand up, then shifted him down to the seat and swung his legs in. He grabbed some pillows he'd swiped from the motel and stuck three of them under Sam's leg and one behind his head, draping his own jacket over Sam to keep him warm.

With a final wave, the family pulled out, the engine purring as they headed west, leaving both small towns in their rear-view mirror.

"So Sam," John asks, "where would you like to graduate from?"

The question surprised Sam – his father had been on a three month long continual hunt-a-thon with no breaks, and Sam was beginning to think that he wouldn't be able to graduate in June at all with all the moving around they've had to do. This was a huge, yet pleasant gift from his father, though Sam felt a bit saddened to think that it was only because of his injuries that Dad even thought to ask or take his son's graduation into consideration.

He looked over to the other side of the bench seat, where his brother seemed equally surprised by the question. Sam knew that Dean had secretly wanted to graduate in California, where the sun was warm, the beaches clean and the girls would be stripping out of their gowns as soon as they'd set foot off the stage.

Sam didn't have any particular preference, only that he stay put long enough to make a few friends with whom he could celebrate graduation. Dean, at least, would have something to focus on while they waited for Sam to finish high school.

Taking his eyes off his brother, he looked towards his father. "How about California? We haven't been there in almost six years."

John glanced back to the rear-view mirror, watching him. "Okay. California it is."

Sam closed his eyes, not needing to see the look on Dean's face, but grinned widely when he hears his father say, "Dean, wipe that smile off your face. You're going to get a job when we get there. I want you sharp, not distracted."

Dean groaned, and Sam stifled a laugh as Dean tried to weasel out of it. "Oh come on, Dad. It's _California. _Blondes, beaches and bikinis. The three B's."

John snorted loudly, reaching for the radio. "And that's exactly why you're getting a job."

Sam smiled in the backseat, pulling his brother's jacket up higher to stave off the cold of the air conditioning. His family drove him insane at times, but sometimes? He was pretty damn lucky to have them.

* * *

A/N: Well I hope you all enjoyed the story folks! Hope to hear from ya :)


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